


of under me you quite so new

by aubades



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: AND THEN SOME GOOD GOOD SMOOCHING, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, LOTTA SEXUAL TENSION HERE FOLKS, M/M, NOT STRICTLY SPEAKING SFW, Samot likes to get under his skin, Samothes runs a bakery, this is an au because im a coward and still am getting to know these characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-12 05:39:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11730630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubades/pseuds/aubades
Summary: Samot falls and Samothes breaks. Also, apple pie is involved.





	of under me you quite so new

On the front porch of First Light Bakery, Samot is tucked into a wicker chair, thumbing through a well-worn book of poetry, when he feels a calloused hand brush against his shoulder. He places a finger between the pages of his book as he closes it to keep his place, and glances up to find Samothes staring down at him, eyes dark and soft.

"You said you wanted to help," Samothes begins, his hand heavy and warm on Samot's skin, talking in that slow way that often irritates Samot but always draws him in. "So, could you get some apples for the pie?"

Samot scrambles to remember an earlier conversation, recalling something about Primo's birthday and baking a pie. It's only then, when he manages to tear himself away from Samothes’s gaze, that Samot realizes the other man is shirtless, sweat visible across his bare chest. He considers this development, allows that feeling to become apparent on his face, the one that had been in the process of unfurling in his chest as he read _i like my body when it is with your body,_ and when Samot looks up, he knows the red in Samothes’s cheeks isn’t just from the summer sun.

“Of course,” replies Samot. “I’ll get the apples.”

Samothes nods. "Good, I'll be out back." Samot follows the line of his neck as he speaks, a familiar sense of ferality growing within.

“What are you making?” Samot asks.

“Some more plates for the bakery,” Samothes explains, his voice level and low, unsuccessfully attempting to disguise the blush that is still tinged across his face. He coughs. “What are you reading?”

Samot holds up the book, making the spine visible. Samothes snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Ah, your book of dirty poetry," he says, amusement thick in his voice, and Samot leans his head back and laughs with the growl that has been building in his chest for such a long time.

They’re moving toward something, have been for what seems like an age. Samot has felt it as he’s walked back and forth between the bakery and the university, and even more so in the moments that Samothes has surprised him when he's stopped by Samot's office, or taught him a recipe and just smiled and smiled as Samot spilled flour all over the floor. Just as much as he’s deliberately woven himself into the other man’s life, Samothes has let him, even welcomed him at times.

Samothes makes his concessions in inches, not out of frustration or fear, but out of habit. But Samot is known for his vast and deadly patience, and in the heat of that summer day, he thinks he just might finally win.

 ---

"You know, I definitely just meant that you should go to the store," Samothes says, glancing at Samot, and then shooting a wary look at the large apple tree nestled in the back of the garden behind his bakery.

Once Samot has finished stripping down to his undershirt, he gives Samothes an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "We have perfectly good apples over there, and it seems unnecessary to walk all the way to the supermarket."

Samothes sighs, but Samot catches his gaze lingering on the part of Samot's collarbone left exposed by the wide neck of his shirt.

"I've already picked the ones that were accessible from the ground." Samothes licks his lips. "Also the ladder won't reach."

"Well, then I'll just have to climb." Samot huffs. "Are you telling me you don't think I'm capable of climbing a tree, Samothes?"

Samothes frowns. "No, but I do think you're capable of accidentally falling out of a tree."

Samot smirks, picks up the small cloth sack he grabbed from inside the bakery, and turns to walk away. Grass tickles the bottom of his bare feet and he takes in a deep breath of the summer air.

"You'll catch me," he confidently calls over his shoulder without glancing back. He hears Samothes sigh again.

As Samot climbs, he listens to the clanging of hammer against metal, somewhat muffled in the thick afternoon haze. When he reaches the top, he allows himself a few moments to just watch Samothes at the opposite end of the garden. Through the dense leaves of the apple tree he can see Samothes in front of his small forge, having moved on from plates to a different project. Samothes, a man always in a state of constant creation, crafting everything from delicate macarons and berry tarts to shining monuments of iron and steel. It's the continual motion that mesmerizes Samot, creating an unending sensation that he's always in the process of falling headfirst into the other man.

Samot drags his palms across branches and bark, smiling to himself as he imagines how coarse Samothes's hands would feel against his own soft arms and legs, how the calloused and rough fingers that Samot only ever gets to feel in brief touches would taste as he pressed kisses from fingertips to wrist. Even from a distance, he can see the roll of muscles across Samothes's back as he works, skin glowing in the sunlight, and Samot has to fight the urge to look away. Sometimes looking at Samothes is like staring directly into the sun.

"Muscles better and nerves more," whispers Samot to himself. He lets out a breathy laugh, scraping his teeth across his bottom lip and clenching his hands against the tree.

Eventually, Samot has five large, red apples gathered into the bag he holds against his chest. The sound of the hammer rings loud in his ears as he reaches for the sixth, out toward a branch that is definitely too far away.

Samot hesitates, his arm hovering outstretched in the air. It's in that brief moment that he can practically see what's going to happen next, and he feels another laugh bubbling in his chest, but there is a part of him that wants to learn how to fall, how to fall into Samothes without any inhibtions, because he suspects he knows what happens after that. So, he reaches out, fingertips brushing against the last apple, and soon, after a few sharp cracks of some branches and the halt of clinking metal, Samot goes tumbling out of the tree.

But instead of hitting the ground, Samot lands directly on something solid with a loud _thud_. Something solid, groaning, and giving Samot an extremely annoyed glare.

"Thanks for catching me," Samot says breezily, even though Samothes didn't so much catch him as provide a hard pillow. Samot glances at the apples that also fell to the ground, but they don't seem terribly bruised - more than can be said about Samot or the grumbling man beneath him. But Samot feels himself grinning, happiness coursing through his body, because even though he let himself do something incredibly stupid, but he was _right_.

Samot takes a moment to revel in the position they now find themselves in, Samothes sprawled out on the ground with Samot perched on top of him, his hands pressed against Samothes's chest. The irritated look on Samothes's face is beginning to fade as he too takes in the image of Samot above him, and if the feelings that are singing in his veins are any indication, Samot can only imagine what his own face must look like. Samothes opens his mouth to say something, but he falters as Samot is unable to stop himself from lightly dragging his nails across Samothes's bare skin, tracing a path from neck to navel.

Samothes makes a sudden choking noise, hands gripping at the grass beneath them, and Samot thinks, _Oh, there_ _it_ _is_ , as he feels the first break in Samothes's composure. Samothes stares up at Samot, eyes wide, and Samot's lips curl into a smile. He rolls off of the other man, making sure to press down as he does, relishing in the way Samothes's mouth goes slack.

As Samot stands, he offers a hand down to Samothes. Without any hesitation, Samothes accepts, and Samot pulls him to his feet. Their hands remain clasped together as Samothes says, voice rough, "I told you so."

Samot laughs until tears begin to form in his eyes.

\---

It isn't until Samothes is in the middle of rolling out the pie crust that he asks about Samot's sudden good mood. His voice is steady but purposefully light, as if he's probing, and Samot knows Samothes isn't that naive, but he's willing to play along for the moment.

Samot pauses, realizes he's been humming as he mixes the filling, and shrugs. "Am I not allowed to just enjoy spending time with you?"

Samothes falls silent. Samot glances over to see that although Samothes is facing with his (now regrettably clothed) back to Samot, Samot can see a blush dancing across the back of his neck. Samot smiles fondly at this, and when Samothes turns around to say something to Samot, Samot lets that admiration become plainly clear across his face.

Samothes's blush deepens as he is once again seemingly at a loss for words, but his hands are steady as turns around to continue working on the crust. Samot bites his lip to keep himself from snickering and goes back to mixing the pie filling.

They fall into silence, save for Samot's humming. Eventually, the crust is finished and Samot pushes his bowl across the countertop. "All done," he says.

Samothes purses his lips before reaching into a cupboard to pull out a variety of spices. Samot watches as the other man works quickly to finish the mixture, adding flourishes here and there in a way that Samot knows is a result of Samothes having an audience, that he wouldn't be showing off this much if Samot wasn't around. But Samot loves watching the efficiency of Samothes at work and never fails to become mesmerized by the fluidity of the man's craftsmanship.

Samothes tries the filling, before making a small noise of approval. "Here, tell me how this tastes," he tells Samot.

Before Samot can reply, a hand appears in front of his face and then he tastes cinnamon, sugar, and the hard edges of Samothes's finger. Samothes watches him without innuendo in his eyes, entirely focused on his baking, much to Samot's complete lack of surprise. But what does surprise Samot is how how willingly he accepts this, how when takes Samothes's finger into his mouth up to the knuckle, it's instinct, not performance.

Samot allows himself a small moment of obscenity as he pulls Samothes's finger out of his mouth with a light _pop_. Samothes stares at him as Samot slowly licks his tongue across his lips. He begins to think of something smart to say, something about the shock resonating from the man in front of him, becase that's just what Samot does, but any and all thoughts in his brain screech to a halt as something in Samothes finally breaks, as Samothes abruptly cups his hand behind Samot's neck, twisting his fingers up into Samot's hair, and crushes their lips together.

He tastes of apples and a variety of spices, and as Samot clenches his hands into Samothes's shirt, digging his nails through the fabric and kissing him deeper, he learns that Samothes tastes of fire and wine.

The oven beeps, and as Samothes pulls away, Samot makes a loud noise of protest.

"I just..." Samothes's eyes are wide and wild, and he seems unwilling to release Samot's neck as he looks around the kitchen. "I just need to put the pie in the oven."

Samot sighs, but steps away, immediately missing the heat between them. Samothes moves quickly to finish putting the pie together, and Samot notices with glee that his hands are shaking slightly, his usual unbreakable concentration seemingly ruined.

 _Sorry, Primo_ , Samot thinks as Samothes opens the oven.

Samothes grabs the pie as Samot drapes himself over the other man's back, making his body pliant as he leans into him, running his hands down Samothes's forearms, which are covered in flour.

"Samot..." Samothes warns, hovering in front of the oven, but Samot simply replies by pressing kisses against his shoulder blades. Samothes sighs, but is able to move despite Samot's weight, almost lifting Samot off the ground as he bends over to slide the pie into the oven. Samot groans at this, burying his face into Samothes's back, rapidly becoming more and more aware of how hot he feels in his own skin.

When the oven door shuts close, Samothes quickly turns around, grabbing Samot by his thighs and hauling him up onto the countertop with the kind of strength that makes Samot realize just how much he's been holding back. A few measuring cups clatter to the floor and Samot laughs wickedly, tilting his head back to give Samothes more access to his throat.

In between kisses and bites that leave Samot grasping to hold on to _anything_ , Samothes whispers, "I like your body. I like what it does, I like its hows."

Samot wraps his legs around Samothes's waist, pulling him as close as he possibly can, threading his fingers through the curls of Samothes's hair as the other man slips his hands underneath Samot's shirt to press his own fingers along Samot's back.

"I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones," Samothes continues, mouthing against Samot's neck, his rough, calloused fingers tracing patterns along Samot's spine in a way that makes him want to scream, "and the trembling firm smoothness and which I will-"

He cuts off to press a kiss to the corner of Samot's mouth.

"Again."

He kisses Samot's eyelids, which have fallen shut.

"And again."

He kisses Samot's forehead, soft and delicate. Samot opens his eyes, pulling Samothes down, holding the man's face in his hands as he drags his thumbs across Samothes's cheekbones.

"And again," finishes Samot, before pulling Samothes into a deep, devouring kiss.

They kiss until Samothes's lips are as red as the apples from his garden, until Samot feels fire in his bones, until Samothes pulls away to look at Samot with such a fond, happy expression in his eyes that Samot's heart clenches in his chest.

Samot draws Samothes's fingertips to his lips, and kisses down to his wrist, until he can feel the man's pulse fluttering underneath his mouth.

"And possibly," Samot says, smiling, "I like the thrill of under me you quite so new."

**Author's Note:**

> if there ever was a couple to write super self-indulgent poetry-inspired fic about...it's these two. they're pretty great.
> 
> (i had three songs on loop while writing this, all by IU: jam jam, zézé, and twenty-three.)
> 
> thanks for reading!


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